This is What Made Me Who I Am
by booklover613
Summary: The stories of what made Agent Coulson into the man we see in the movies. Phil's backstory.
1. Chapter 1

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. And if you're curious what I'm thankful for, I'm thankful for my family, especially my sisters and my brother. (who despite being only 8 years old is one of my biggest fans and the person who i turn to for writing ideas. So if anything really weird happens on my Percy Jackson and Avengers story, blame him.) I am also thankful for my friends, who are amazing and stick with me despite my weirdness. I'm thankful for my teachers, who all passed me on my progress report. WOOHOO! I'm thankful for America, my freedom, the insane imagination that G-d decided to give me, and lastly, I am thankful for you guys-my viewers. Last time I checked, my Percy Jackson story has over 5,000 views, and my Avengers story had close to 2 and half thousand views. Because of that, my parents are actually taking my writing seriously. So I thank you all for that. You are all amazing.

This story is about Phil growing up, and what happened to him that made him who he is today. (And I say that in present tense, because Coulson lives!) This story will be a multi-chap fic, so stick around for more!

Read, enjoy, and please, pretty, please, review! Reviews make me melt with happiness. For every review I get, and angel grows wings and sings. Every time I get a review, well, you get the picture. I'll stop now so you guys can actually read the story.

* * *

It was a freezing January evening. Snow fell lightly on the ground, blanketed the streets and cars outside. Chicago's skyscrapers loomed overhead, dusted with the white of winter's first snow. January 11th was a bit late for the first snow of the season in Chicago, and the people of the city had enjoyed the extended fall weather.

A young boy stood against a window, face plastered against it despite the cold. He stood silently, ignoring the tumult going on around him. He watched the snow fall silently, slowly covering the hospital parking lot.

The seven year old sighed, and returned to the chair where he'd been sitting for the past 3 hours. He stared at the double doors parallel to him, waiting for his father to burst through them with a grin on his face. The doors were constantly opening and closing, doctors, nurses, and happy families streaming through them. But where was _his_ family?

They had been on their way to Navy Pier. The trip was a reward for learning the new kata and advancing to the next belt. His dad had promised him the reward when he heard how his son was struggling with the complex moves. And sure enough, a week after the deal was made, the boy came home carrying his brand new green belt.

So that day, he, his mom, and his dad all piled into their van and headed towards the pier. But almost immediately after they got on Lake Shore Drive, his mother began breathing heavily, and his dad drove towards the hospital instead.

"There's nothing to worry about." His dad had assured him as he walked through the giant double doors with his mother. "Soon, you're going to have a brand new little brother or sister!"

But that was more than 3 ½ hors ago. Where were they?

As he complained mentally, the doors to the hospital whooshed open, and someone the boy recognized through them.

"Grandpa! Grandma!" The little 2nd grade boy rushed to greet his mother's parents' arms with glee. When he reached them, he was surprised to find that his excitement was not reflected on their faces. His grandmother wrapped him in a tight, stiff, hug before releasing him and rushing through the doors of the maternity ward.

"Hey kiddo." His grandfather said feigning enthusiasm. "How are you?"

The boy wasn't buying it. "What's going on? Where's my mom? How come you and Grandma drove in from Wisconsin?"

His grandfather looked pained. "I'm going to leave those questions to your dad to explain."

After that, the two of them just sat next to each other, motionless, staring at the doors the exact same way the boy had been doing. But if possible, the boy now felt worse.

* * *

He must have dropped off to sleep at some point, because the next thing the young boy knew, he was being shaken awake. He opened his eyes immediately, and saw that his father was crouching next to him, smiling. But at the same time, the boy also noticed the obvious sadness in his eyes.

"Hey buddy. Want to see your new brothers?"

The boy's eyes bulged. "Brothers?"

His father grinned at his reaction, and walked him to a long, thin corridor. Lots of people were crowding around a large window, peering through it. The boy tried to snake his way through the throng of people, but to no avail. His father almost laughed a bit, but the humor didn't reach his eyes.

"Carry you. Carry you." The boy pleaded.

"No, you want _me_ to carry _you_." His father corrected. "You're getting a little old for that." But he lifted his son on his shoulders nonetheless. His father pointed to two bundles of peachy squishiness swathed in blue sleeping next to each other.  
"The right one's Joey, and he one on the left is David.

The boy stared at them a bit before asking. "So when can I teach them karate?"

His father lifted him off his shoulders and set him down carefully. "Maybe wait on that a bit, Buddy."

"Can I see Mom now?" The boy asked the instant he was on the ground.

Instead of answering, his father turned away. "Your mother is very tired." He said after a long pause that stretched on for way longer than the boy thought was necessary. "Maybe later."

But before either of them could say anything else, a nurse walked up to them. "Mr. Coulson?"

His father turned to her. "Yes?"

"Your wife would like to see you. And your son." She added quickly. "Please follow me." She turned and the two walked hurriedly after her.

When they reached the boy's mother's room, the nurse stopped in front of the door. The nurse nodded sadly at them, and opened the door to let them in. As soon as she saw them walk in, the boy's grandmother rose and walked out of the room.

"I'll give you your privacy." She whispered to the boy's father. He nodded distractedly, and immediately rushed to his wife's side.

"Wendy." He said with a chocked voice. His wife raised a hand to his face and stroked it softly.

"I'm so sorry William."

He swallowed hard. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

She smiled at her husband softly. "But I do. I'm leaving you, the boys…"

William grabbed her hand. "Don't talk like that. You're going to be okay."

Wendy shook her head. Then she turned her head to her son. "Come here, big boy."

Her son rushed into her outstretched arms and hugged her while kneeling next to her bed next to his father.

"Please don't go Mommy." He pleaded, voice chocked with tears. "Please don't leave."

"I don't want to go. But you know what? I'll always be right there." she tapped his heart. "Always remember that."

The boy nodded, and his mother smiled at him. "Take good care of Joey and David. They need a good big brother."

Wendy turned to her husband. "Be strong sweetie. I'm so proud of both of my boys. I love both of you so, so much."

Tears streaming from the boy and his fathers' eyes dropped softly onto the hospital bed blanket.

"Darling, the next year is going to be hard for you." The boy's mother continued. "I'm so sorry that I won't be here to help you grow up, and help you through it. But I can tell you this. Be strong. Don't let anyone push you down or shove you around. You're my strong karate man. You are so brave. I know you can do it. Can you be strong for me, Phil?"

Phil nodded again, and his mother let out a happy sigh. "Good. Now I can rest."

William squeezed her hand, and she smiled. "Take care of the boys. Phil, stay strong, for me."

With those last words on her lips, Wendy Coulson drew her last breath. The two Coulson men still next beside her bed, while the snow fell lightly outside, covering the city in white.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil hated suits. He hated everything about them. The stiff shirt that felt like parchment against his skin. The tie that made him feel like he was chocking slowly to death. But today, he didn't have much choice in the matter. "You ready, buddy?" His Father poked his head through the door. His face was pale and gaunt, with deep bags beneath his eyes. But he smiled at his son, trying to hide the obvious fact that he hadn't slept in 2 days.

2 days. In Phil's opinion, 2 days was way to soon to be forced to act normal, especially for the people who were going to be showing up today. Did any of them even care, or where they just showing up to be polite, because they felt obliged to? Phil didn't want t go to the funeral any more than they did. But Phil was going to stand there next to his dad and grandparents, and al the people he barely knew were going to come over to them, pretending to be mournful. Sure his parents had some friends who were going to be there, but they didn't know many people since moving from Oklahoma to the big city. Most of the people were their neighbors who they barely knew, or the people his parents worked with. But whoever they were all coming to the funeral like Phil. Whether any of them wanted to be there or not.

His father stepped fully into the room. He was also wearing a suit, but he looked good in it. His father wore a suit like he born in one. Phil swam in his.

William noticed his son's expression and knelt down beside him.

"How are you doing?"

Phil turned away from his father's searching gaze, feeling miserable. "I can't do this."

"Phi," his father said gently, "I know this is hard for you. It's hard for a fully grown adult, much less a 7 year old, to go through something like this. You've been so brave, and you have no idea how proud of you I am." William squeezed Phil's shoulders gently.

Phil lifted his eyes from the floor to reach his father's, and was startled to see tears in his eyes. "Your mother would be proud. And I'm sure she is. Remember that she's still watching us. Up there." His father pointed upwards with an almost hopeful look. "Always remember that. She's standing right next to you. Always." His father pressed a light kiss to Phil's forehead before straightening up.

He stepped back for a moments before reaching forward to adjust Phil's' lapels. Phil squirmed slightly.

"How can you ask these every day?"

His father laughed. "You'll get used to them. I promise."

"I can't do this." Phil whispered as they stepped through the door into their private room in the funeral parlor. Some people were already there, filling up the front few rows. They all tuned to stare at Phil and his family as they walked down the aisle before sitting down in the front row of pews. Phil felt their eyes boring holes into the back of his head as he sat down, tearing him apart. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?

The services started soon after. His father spoke and tried not to break down crying in the middle. His grandmother tried to speak, but got choked up, so Phil's grandfather walked her off the podium and spoke instead. Before he knew it, the ceremony was over, and he was being smothered by strangers. Phil tried to get away, but they seemed to surge over him, pinching his cheeks and asking him how he felt, voices dripping with syrupy, saccharine sweetness. They surrounded him, drawing closer and closer, until Phil felt as if the walls themselves were closing in around him. he began taking rapid, deep breaths, trying desperately to calm himself. He tried desperately to keep his inner calm, as his sensei had always taught him. but his body refused, and Phil could feel himself go into panic mode.

Phil began to shrink into himself. His mind retracted, locking himself in from the onslaught of well wishers and fake sympathy givers. He tried to reach towards his father for help, but he was far across the room. No one else here knew about his _condition_. Phil wanted to keep it that way. He couldn't stay in here. Not like this.

Eyes scouring wildly, Phil finally noticed a small gap between the guests. The seven year old dashed through it before it could disappear and tore his way down the aisle towards the giant brown doors at the front of the room. As he slipped through them, Phil looked back guiltily at where his father was standing, looking a bit lost. Phil felt a bit guilty, as if he'd let his father down. But if he stayed…the little boy shuddered. He was NOT going through that again.

As soon as he was out in the hall, Phil began to breathe again. he walked over to a flight of stairs near the door and sat on the bottom step, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands.

"You look a bit young to be looking like that kid." Said a suddenly. Phil looked up, startled, and a kind, older face looked down at him.

"Gabe Jones." The man said as he sat down next to him. "I'd say nice to meet ya, but this ain't the best of circumstances."

Phil gave a quite nod, not quite sure what to make of the man. "You're here for a…"

The man almost laughed. "Yeah, I had a funeral this morning, too. An old friend of mine-Dum Dum Doan. We served together."

Phil's eyes grew large, and stared at the man next to him in wonder. "You're a soldier?"

"Was." Jones corrected him. "I ain't no soldier no more. But Dogan, he was in my unit. Good guy, Dogan was. I came to say goodbye." The man sighed. "Now I'm the only one left."

Phil placed one of his small hands over the older man's darker one. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

Jones turned to stare at him, almost in wonder. Then he began to laugh, his entire body shaking back and forth. After a few minutes, he calmed himself, and wiped his eyes.

"Thanks, kid. That actually kinda helped."

Phil smiled, but then his face turned gloomy again. "Fat lot of good it did me." he muttered, turning away.

"Hey kid, what's with you? No kid your age should be looking that sad, and sitting in a place like this."

"My mom died." Phil's voice was barely a whisper.

The older man blushed, and began to stutter. "Oh, geez kid, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize…oh, who am I kidding this ain't doing you no good. I've got a better idea." Jones took a deep breath before continuing. "Ya wanna see something cool, kid?"

Phil nodded vigorously, but then paused. "You don't have to tell it if you don't want to, mister. My Daddy says not to invade on other people's pri-va-cy."

Jones smiled again. "You're cute kid. But nah, I guess I gotta tell someone the whole story, eventually. I'm the only one who can, now."

Jones leaned his back against the step, and pulled a small, black, box from the inside of his leather jacket. He opened the box carefully, and showed the box to the young boy.

Inside, lay a small, gold purple heart.

"Is that yours?" Phil asked in wonder. Jones chuckled at his amazement.

"Sure is. I got it from the President himself when I came back to the states after the war, in '45. Which was…" the old soldier calculated quickly in his head. "Nearly 40 years ago." He sighed, and looked off into a distance. "The world was a different place then. There were good guys and bad guys. A winner and a loser. You wouldn't understand."

"But I do!" Phil answered quickly, eagerly to prove how mature he was. "You were a good guy in the army, and you fought the bad guys. Those were the Germans, right? So why is that different? My daddy went to Afghanistan and helped fight the bad guys!"

Jones shook his head sadly. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, kid, but it ain't that simple. Not all the Afghans are bad guys. During the war, we, the Americans, were fighting the bad guys, the Germans, because they invaded other countries and killed people there. But now? We invaded Afghanistan, and killed people there. Does that make us the bad guys?"

Phil pondered this for a few moments, before speaking slowly. "My Mommy always said that what makes you good or bad is how you feel on the inside. If you want to do good, then you're a good person. If you want to hurt people and do mean things, that makes you a bad guy."

Jones turned to stare at him, then shook his head. "From the mouth of babes."

Phil looked indignant. "I'm not a baby."

The soldier laughed and ruffled the little boy's hair. "I know you're not, kid. It's just an expression. So, your Dad was a soldier?"

Phil's face lit up. "Yup! my Daddy is the _bravest!_ I wanna be like him when _I_ grow up!"

A shadow passed across Jones's face. "You wanna be a soldier, too?"

Phil nodded vigorously. "I want to stop the bad guys."

Jones looked at him curiously. "You said stop, not kill. You do realize you might have to kill them if you want to stop them, right?"

Phil looked down at his shoes. "I don't want to kill anyone. I just don't like bullies."

Jones stared at him for a solid minute before looking away and shaking his head, as if to dispel a painful memory. "Sorry bout that, kid, you just reminded me of someone I once knew."

"Was he one of the good guys?"

"Was he? That's an understatement. He was a hero."

"But you're a hero, too." Phil pointed to the medal, still sitting in Jones's palm.

"Yeah, but this guy? He was a _real_ hero. Like no one you've ever seen."

"Really?"

"Really. I happen to know a few stories about him. Wanna hear them?" The old man smiled fondly as the boy's face lit up in excitement.

"Yes please!"

"Alright. I met him in the winter of 1943. I had been imprisoned with tons of other guys in a Hydra base. Then he, Captain America, came rushing in, out of nowhere, and liberated us. After that, I became part of his command unit. For the next few months…"

Jones regaled Phil with story after story from the war. With each passing tale, the boy's eyes grew wider and wider, completely enraptured. He barely noticed the time slipping past, until his father stumbled out of their room in the funeral parlor, looking exhausted.

The very next day, Phil asked his father if he could buy the Captain America shield that the comic store near his school sold.


End file.
